'Til Death Do Us Part

The Blackman Estate was an oasis for every Ford, Rockefeller, and Vanderbilt escaping the city after Memorial Day.

It was early summer and the land was in full bloom. Jasmine tangled around the surrounding white picket fence, and potted petunias fought for the sun's glow. Anna Fitzgerald propped open the double french doors and stepped onto the patio.

Figures clustered together in small groups, laughter blinking intermittently among them. Anna wove through the party to refill drinks and collect discarded glasses. Freshly cut gardenias rested alongside half-eaten crab cakes, and Anna sprinkled ice chips into vases to stave off wilted petals.

His voice cut through the crowd. “I found her sopping wet in the dark, right off Beach Drive. I’d just finished reading Carrie, and let me tell you, for a moment there I swore the devil herself was in Virginia.”

Anna replenished the last of her guests’ drinks and then walked into his arms. Frederick greeted her with a roguish smile and accepted the old fashioned from her fingers. “We were just talking about you,” he said.

She already knew this, of course. She came over to change that.

Frederick wore his customary navy slacks, crisp white shirt, and gold cufflinks passed down from his grandfather. His sharp jaw was speckled with a day’s worth of stubble and an unlit cigarette rested between his index finger and thumb.

She smiled back at him. It was a faint, serious smile, better suited to a funeral procession than an afternoon soirée. It was Frederick’s favorite expression on her.

“Nothing too scandalous, I hope.”

“The story of how we met.” An arm wrapped around her waist, squeezed. “When I was driving up the coast and discovered you and that beat-up chevy trapped in a monsoon.” A light chuckle. “In Myrtle Point, of all places.”

Their whirlwind romance was beloved gossip at every gathering. Fredrick Blackman, rising star in American politics, wrecking his reputation and a five-hundred-dollar suit to open his passenger door for a stranger and fall in love.

He reached down to brush his lips against her temple. His fingers swept away a lock of honey hair as he whispered, “the way the rain clung to you was certainly scandalous, but we don’t want to give Pastor Haverford a heart attack before tomorrow’s sermon.”

He led Anna slowly through the party, stopping at each cluster of guests to show her off. The new, beautiful girl on his arm, dripping in fresh water pearls and a dress worth more than half the country’s monthly salary.

After passing out the third round of champagne, Frederick cued to the help to cut the music. Beethoven simmered amidst the buzz of alcohol-induced dialogue, until the last note drifted into silence.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” he began. “Each of you is among my dearest friends.” He let his gaze linger on every face in the room before turning, deliberately, to the woman beside him.

“I’d like to take a moment to put the spotlight on Anna.” His blue-grey eyes found hers, holding her fast. “My affection for her is the worst-kept secret in this city.” A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd. “So tonight, I’d like to make it official.”

Anna barely had time to register the collective gasp before she saw him drop to one knee. Between his fingers gleamed a solitaire diamond.

“Marry me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

She obediently held out her left hand. He slipped the ring onto her finger and dragged her onto her knees for a ravishing kiss. Her knees scraped against the tile flooring, and cameras flashed in their direction. They broke apart and shared a private smile around his hundred closest friends.

Anna’s eyes stung with tears. “This is everything I dreamed of.” She glanced around at the crowded room. “Perhaps next weekend, we could celebrate again. Just the two of us—somewhere more private?”

He grinned mischievously and inched closer. Close enough that they were sharing air with each breath. “Anything you want. Name the time and place, and it’s yours.”

Five days later, the newly engaged couple swept off to South Dakota for the weekend. It was a dream of hers to see the Badlands, and so Frederick took her to his cabin just outside Rapid City. Deer hunting season was announced the week before, and so he packed his favorite toys for the trip. His grand dad’s pump action rifle and a single-shot revolver.

Their second night, Anna suggested a liquid dinner in lieu of cooking. Fred kissed her soundly for her ingenuity and popped open a bottle of Johnnie Walker. The pair quickly located a set of board games and a match of scrabble began in short order. Fred kicked off with a six letter word. Played, for twelve points.

Anna set down a five letter word. Grace, for seventeen points. She peered at Frederick as she set down the last letter and saw the moment he recognized it’s meaning. His face tensed reflexively, until he schooled his expression to a relaxed smile.

“Using my A,” he remarked. “Clever.”

Anna smiled and sipped her whiskey. Neat, with a pinch of lemon.

Two turns later, Anna set down a four letter word. Lily, for twelve points. Frederick flinched. Anna ’s smile grew a bit wider.

Anna placed the final name on the board three turns later. Frederick stared intently at it for several moments. Bullets of rain struck against the floor-to-ceiling windows beside them, shielding the copse of thick woods surrounding the home.

“Sarah is a name, not a word. Pick something else for your turn.”

Anna tightened her grip on the Waterford crystal tumbler, the glass cool and slick between her fingers. She took another deliberate sip.

“Alicia Hartley, the DA’s wife, told me about the Sarah you dated a few years back,” she said. “Such a gossip, that one.”

Anna hesitated, tilting her head.

“She told me about her suicide too. Poor thing. Opioid overdose, all alone in her home.”

Fred waved her off with a lazy flick of the wrist. “That was over a decade ago. I barely remember. She was certifiable—threatening me every time I tried to leave. Frankly, I’m surprised it took her as long as it did.”

Frederick was a true politician, in every sense of the word. He had a rare gift of appearing perfectly calm and self-possessed at all times. His strong, aristocratic face was fixed in a relaxed expression. The practiced look was only offset by the slight reddening on the tips of his ears. His one tell, she’d discovered. He never could quite banish away that bit of color when he had a fit of nerves.

Anna hadn’t told him. She liked knowing when he was nervous.

“Lily was a campaign assistant during your last gubernatorial run, wasn’t she?” Anna asked, swirling the whiskey in her glass. “Fell into the Potomac River after a late-night strategy session?”

Fred leaned further into his chair. “We always warned her not to walk home alone.”

Anna hummed under her breath. Her glass was empty again; she poured two more fingers. Fred declined the offer to top off his glass.

“I remember that election,” she went on. “Close race. Lucky for you the other candidate was caught in bed with that pretty young thing right before voting. Only seventeen, wasn’t she? And from the same hometown as Lily—the one who tragically drowned the next week?”

The sound of his hand hitting her cheek cracked through the cavernous space. Her head snapped back a moment later, the force flinging her from the chair and onto the cold stone floor. Dazed, she blinked away black spots to find him looming above her.

“Four months warming my bed and suddenly you think you know everything?” His voice was low, venomous. “This isn’t how it works. You were nothing but port-side trash before I found you. I say jump, you say how high.”

Anna spit out a thick mixture of blood and saliva. The edges of her vision blurred, a byproduct of the slap and the cocktail’s contents finally hitting her bloodstream. She laughed, right in his face, showing off crimson teeth and a split lip. “You aren’t even going to ask about Grace, the first name I played? Not the least bit curious?”

The revolver lay on the kitchen counter, just a few paces away. Like all weapons in the house, it was fully loaded. Frederick’s gaze twitched to the gun before turning his focus back to his prey.

“What about her,” he sneered. “Just another nothing slut from the slums trying to take advantage of my name.”

Anna pushed herself up, using the chair for balance. Frederick’s frame filled the space, attempting to crowd her into submission. Anna reached for her whiskey like a lifeline and knocked back the drink in a single swallow. The glass felt solid and heavy in her hand. Thick enough to knock a person out, or worse.

“And do you remember where that nothing girl from the slums was from?” Her grin was all teeth. “No? With all your time spent thinking about yourself, I’m not surprised. I’ll give you a hint. Do you remember how we met, baby? When you found me in Myrtle Point—that nothing town in the slums?”

Realization struck. Frederick took a step back. His eyes swept over her face, cataloguing her features. It was only then that he noticed the similarities.

The freckles bridging her nose, the dimples tucked into her cheeks. The auburn hair, colored wheat-blonde every four weeks. She saw the moment he understood he'd underestimated her, this new opponent. A deadly game of chess, and her move was set up to steal his Queen.

“Who are you?” he asked at last, after a long, heavy silence.

“You already know Grace had a sister," she spat. "Your mistake was leaving a loose end when you covered up her murder.”

“Grace’s death was an accident,” Fred said tightly. His face was pale, bloodless. “A car accident, after she had too much to drink.”

“That’s what everyone said,” Grace agreed. “Except that my sister was four years sober and didn’t know how to drive.”

The room held its breath for one second, then two.

And then Frederick Blackman’s mask finally slipped. A sudden laugh escaped him, loud and sharp. In all the hours Anna had spent with him, it was first time he appeared genuine to her.

“So what,” he said. “You’ve spent all these months playing whore with me just so that you could confront me about the pathetic existence that was your sister? Here’s the truth. Grace's death was her own damn fault. I found her sneaking through my office, and she all but admitted that someone paid her off for information. A foreign government, political opponent, I don’t care. Her accident was a message. One I would do all over again, gladly.”

The confession was information she already knew. But a gleam of triumph still entered her eyes at his admission.

“Four long months playing your whore," she admitted. "But it will be well worth it knowing you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life rotting in a cell cornered by men twice your strength.”

Frederick ate the distance to the kitchen counter in three long strides. The world tilted, and then his revolver was trained on Anna’s chest.

She welcomed the sight. She’d felt her kidneys failing for the past half hour, her heart sluggishly working in overdrive just to keep circulating blood to the brain. A bullet would be a mercy, swifter than what she had planned.

For vengeance, for Grace, she forced herself to stay upright and continue speaking, even as the room spun wildly around her.

“Why do you think we’re in South Dakota right now, my dear fiancé? You think this trip was planned on a whim? Silly man. It was the closest state that has the death penalty for capital crimes.”

Frederick stepped closer. As close as the lover he once was. Close enough that they were sharing air with each breath. “You think a nothing, twenty-two year old girl can get me convicted of murder? For three deaths that were all ruled accidental and shoved in the bottom of a filing cabinet?”

“No,” Anna said. “But I think poisoning your twenty-two year old fiance will get it done.”

She finally let her body fail her. The crystal tumbler shattered beneath her during the fall, embedding shards of glass into her side. She welcomed the pain.

Frederick stared down. At the shattered glass, the blood pouring out of her mouth, the opened bottle of whiskey. He bolted for the phone, already calculating, already crafting his alibi as the devoted fiancé. He would understand, soon enough, that it was too late to alter the narrative.

Anna thought of the laudanum she’d pilfered from his medicine cabinet, week after week, until she had a lethal dose. The powder she'd slipped into her own drink, and the half-empty bag now resting in Frederick's luggage. She thought of the bruises she’d inflicted on herself just before public outings, the whispered concerns she’d planted about Frederick's erratic behavior. The call made to the District Attorney’s wife just before the drive: “I feel like something is very wrong with him. One moment he’s the amazing, perfect man I fell in love with, and the next he’s a stranger. If I don’t call you by seven at night every night, please ring for help.”

The soft wail of a police cruiser rose in the distance. Anna’s last thought was of her sister’s easy laugh, the one he stole from her. She smiled, and then felt nothing.